When in death I shall calm recline,
O bear my heart to my mistress dear,
Tell her it liv’d on smiles and wine
Of brightest hue while it linger’d here.
Bid her not shed one tear of sorrow
To sully a heart so brilliant and light;
But balmy drops of the red grape borrow,
To bathe the relic from morn till night.
When the light of my song is o’er,
Then take my harp to your ancient hall;
Hang it up at the friendly door,
Where weary travelers love to call.
Then if some bard, who roams forsaken
Revive its soft note in passing along,
Oh! let one thought of its master waken
Your warmest smile for the child of song.